All Gave Some, Some Gave All
by ScreenwriterKitteh
Summary: Set directly after Exit Wounds, slight AU.  Jack gives the team - plus John - the day off, after dealing with Gray.  However, the Rift seems to have other ideas in store for him and Ianto.  Janto.  Rated T for now.
1. Aftermath

AN: ScreenwriterKitteh here. This is a sort of prologue to demonstrate the Torchwood AU, for now, the crossover will come in a chapter or two.

The bullet, somehow, had missed anything major. She had needed a blood transfusion by the time they got her to the care of the EMTs – that was before they had known he was alive. He had barely gotten out in time as the lockdown began – just an instant longer, and he would have been gone. He was still Dead Owen, of course, but at least he was walking, talking Dead Owen – and as he held Tosh's hand, just then, and she smiled wearily up at him from the hospital bed, he could almost forget about the whole "being dead" thing altogether.

Tosh smiled up at Owen, blinking back tears – happy tears. When the bullet had hit, she had been sure that was it – that her life was over. Images had rushed through her mind – Owen dying a second time, alongside thousands or millions of others, in the nuclear meltdown which would inevitably take place, if she couldn't survive long enough to help him to stop it. A messenger or phone call or simple, impersonal letter sent to her mother while all her possessions were packed up and stored away like Suzie's had been. Someone – Ianto, maybe – typing in her data, logging her out for the last time, seeing the video she had put in place, the messages to Jack and Owen. Instead, here she was, with Owen's hand in hers, and the words finally said in person.

"I love you," she whispered again.

"Oh, come off it," Captain John Hart muttered, speaking mostly to himself. He was leaning against the wall in the back of the room, arms crossed over his chest, watching Owen and Tosh. His eyes moved to Gwen and Rhys, standing in one another's arms as Gwen buried her head in her husband's chest. He snorted slightly, and looked at Jack and Ianto – not nearly so obvious as the other pairs, but Jack had his arm around Ianto's waist, and Ianto was leaning against him a little. Obvious, maybe, but just not so much as the others. "All the happy couples together," he drawled. "Where does that leave me, then? Don't even think of sending me home," he added, knowing full well that might be Jack's intention. "I'm too much of a wanted man there. Wouldn't survive two minutes."

Jack looked over at him with an even gaze which betrayed little of his thoughts. "Right here, I think," he said finally. He held out one hand. "Vortex manipulator?"

John chuckled. "Want to make sure I don't run off, is that it?" he raised an eyebrow, then handed over the mechanism. "There you go. Gonna lock me up for my crimes?"

Jack paused, watching him. On the one hand – yes, the man had just extended his life by about two thousand rather unpleasant years, after blowing up much of the city. Before that, he had attempted to kill every member of his team – himself included. On the other hand, he had just found out that the entire thing had not, in fact, been John's choice at all, but that of Jack's own brother – because Jack had let go of his hand. As much Jack's own fault as anything else, really. And the John he'd seen more recently hadn't been half bad. He still fancied Jack, which could get in the way of things if they weren't careful – he certainly didn't need rivalries within the Hub, of all things. But it also seemed to inspire a ridiculous amount of loyalty in the man. It brought out his better side, at the very least. "I think we might be able to use another man on the team, actually," Jack said finally. Ianto looked at him sharply, and Jack gave him a small reassuring squeeze which also hid from anyone else watching the fact that his hand was creeping a little closer to Ianto's arse.

Both of John's eyebrows went up, now. "Try to kill all of you, get offered a job, is that how it works, now?"

"No!" Gwen said quickly. "No, that's not what he means – of course not."

"It was what I meant," Jack corrected.

"No!" Gwen and Owen's protests were simultaneous.

"He's a madman-" Gwen said.

"Nearly killed me in a nuclear meltdown-"

"Blew up the city-"

"Hell, could have killed _everyone_ in about a-"

"Cut off all communications-"

"Was with that psycho who nearly killed Tosh-"

Rhys was looking back and forth between the two, eyes wide as he had only half an idea what was going on. Tosh was torn between quieting her now-boyfriend and supporting him. John simply watched – at first. As Gwen and Owen grew louder, he finally lost patience. "Look here!" he hollered. "I didn't exactly have much of a choice in it, did I?"

"Calm down," Jack sighed. He looked back at his team. "He _was _forced to," he pointed out – John didn't miss the way he avoided saying who had done the forcing. Jack, it seemed, would take quite some time to get over that shock entirely. "Whatever the real name is, John Hart fits fairly well, I'd say. I'm making the offer."

"It's not his real name?" Rhys demanded, frowning at the one bit of the conversation he could grab hold of.

"Doesn't matter," Jack shook his head, not even glancing at Rhys, his attention still on John. "Are you in or not?"

"I'm in," John agreed quickly. "Definitely in. I don't suppose Eye Candy there is included in the deal?"

"No," Jack snapped as Ianto flushed red.

"How about you, then?"

"No," he repeated.

"Considering how often aliens wind up fucked instead of fought – and I don't mean fucked over – I've got a feeling you'll find someone soon enough," Owen said dryly.

"Twice," Tosh said hotly.

"Three times," Gwen corrected with a glance at Owen. "Though she wasn't an alien." It was actually four times, in all, but none of them remembered Adam.

Owen went red. "That's over," he said flatly. He looked down at Tosh. "You know that's over, right?"

Toshiko nodded, squeezing his hand.

Jack chuckled. "I think you get the idea," he told John, "and we do have a job to do, what with-"

"Not now, Jack," Gwen protested. "I know we have a job, and all, but can we put that aside, for now? Just for the day, maybe."

"We need to keep an eye on the rift, and we need to make sure we have the right stories put out explaining the weevils," Jack said.

"I can brief the police on the weevils," Gwen said. "They can put out whatever message we need."

"If we had a laptop, Owen and I could keep an eye on the rift from here," Tosh added.

Not one to love working, Owen started to protest. Then he glanced at Tosh, remembering her devotion to her work. He closed his mouth again, then nodded.

"Alright," Jack nodded finally. "Gwen, Rhys – how about you two get a spare laptop from the Hub, bring it back here – then I think we can take the day off." He glanced at Ianto. "Maybe tomorrow, too, if things are particularly quiet."

"Now you've jinxed it all," Gwen complained. "Come on, Rhys," she added, smiling at her husband. "Just one more thing, and then we're home."

"Mind getting a bite to eat, too?" Owen asked quickly, seeing a chance to at least somewhat better his situation. "I'm starving."

"We'll stop for sandwiches or something, then," she agreed. "Let's go." She took Rhys' hand, pulling him towards the door.

"Slow down, Gwen," he chuckled. "The world's not ending anymore."

"Wait a moment," Ianto said quietly – he was frowning at Owen.

Owen's eyes were already wide – he had realized what was wrong with his question nearly as soon as he had spoken. The rest of the heads in the room turned towards him.

"I thought you couldn't eat?" Tosh was the one to ask the question, finally.

"I – yeah," Owen said slowly. "Yeah, I couldn't."

"But you're hungry now?" Gwen repeated.

"Yeah."

"He hasn't been hungry since he died," Ianto muttered. "So if he's hungry now-"

Jack nodded. "Change of plan," he said sharply. "We all need to get back to the Hub – Tosh, you too, if we can manage it. No pushing yourself," he added firmly. "We don't need you risking it – not for this. I hope," he added. Despite his words, he was already motioning to a nurse.

"I'm stable, and they've got me on enough painkillers to keep a dying elephant on its feet for a week," Tosh said dryly. "I'm coming."


	2. Alive

"Heartbeat, apparently functioning digestive system, and that scalpel cut in my hand is bleeding," Owen said, as he put down the stethoscope. He started to clean the wound for which he had, until then, had to replace the stitches periodically. "I'm a real boy again."

"That's not possible," Jack said flatly. "We've known for ages it's impossible to actually bring someone back from the dead – certainly not without repercussion. Both gloves proved that."

"I've been up and about, haven't I?" Owen argued. "And we already dealt with the repercussion from that. Maybe my body just needed to get started up again. I mean, I've seen people come back from being near-dead – it's what modern medicine does, and that doesn't leech life from anyone or call up monsters from the darkness."

"Might be," Tosh said, looking a little nervously up at Jack. "That could be it, couldn't it?" she pressed, hopeful. She wanted Owen to be alive as much as he did – while she loved him either way, she knew how little he liked his condition, and it was hard to take a man on a date when he couldn't eat, drink, or have sex.

"Maybe," Jack said finally. "Just to be safe, I'd like to have some tests done. Tosh, check him for rift energy, take blood tests – you know what to do. Gwen, get something for him to eat. Fetch some pizza for everyone, actually, I don't know how long we're going to be here."

"Alright," Gwen nodded, pulling Rhys out with her as Tosh led Owen off.

"The personal stuff can wait for later," Jack called after them. He trusted Tosh to do keep work and romance separate well enough – at least as much as was necessary, at the moment – but he wouldn't be surprised if Owen had other ideas about what ought to happen when the two of them were off alone. Not getting a response, he sighed, looking at Ianto and John. "And now we wait," he said. "Ianto – let's give John the proper tour, shall we?"

"Shall I put this away, then?" Ianto asked, holding up a stop watch.

Ignoring John's confused look, Jack smiled. "For now," he said. "I think we'll find a use for it soon enough, though."

Ianto smiled, slipping it into his pocket. "I'll be holding you to that," he warned.

"Nothing out of place in the blood tests," Tosh reported about an hour later, as they sat around with the pizza Gwen and Rhys had brought. "Those matched perfectly with the records from before he died. There was a trace of radiation – not rift activity, just radiation, but it faded before I had a chance to determine the exact source or type, let alone the cause."

"Maybe he got doused with something in the plant during the meltdown," Ianto suggested.

"I did get out barely in the nick of time," Owen agreed. "Think that might've been enough to get me started again?"

Jack frowned. "I don't know," he said slowly.

Ianto, though, was shaking his head. "It could have something to do with it, but an electric shock would be needed to actually restart the heart, most likely," he said. "Did you get shocked at all?"

"Might've done," Owen said. "Didn't feel anything, obviously – haven't felt anything since I died, till about now – but I was fiddling around with a bit of electronics in there. Might've gotten zapped."

"Might have, or did?" Jack pressed. "It's best if you can remember."

Owen thought. There had been that one cable with failing insulation – and he had been holding that with one hand, and – yes, he had touched something else. "Did," he said firmly. "Definitely did."

"Then that probably did it," Ianto nodded. "I would venture a guess that it was enough to get the heart started, and perhaps the radiation helped the process along a little."

"The tests certainly don't have anything to counter that," Tosh said.

"The first time the tests showed up with nothing wrong, we wound up with the Grim Reaper on our hands," Jack cautioned.

"There is one thing we didn't do," Tosh said slowly. "The Weevils."

"King of the Weevils," Owen remembered. Since he had come back, the sewer-creatures had bowed down to him, cowering in his presence as though afraid. "If that's not the way it is anymore-" He leapt up, racing down to the cells with the rest of the team hurrying after him. John and Rhys were a little slower than the rest, not being entirely sure just what Owen was talking about. They both knew full well what the Weevils were, but neither had heard about the so-called "King of the Weevils" aspect of Owen's not-dead situation.

Nonetheless, both arrived in time to see the others standing back as Owen stood in front of the glass, the Weevil growling and snarling, throwing itself against the barrier like it would have done for any of the rest of them.

Owen stared for a moment, then turned back to the others with a triumphant grin. "That's it, then!" he said enthusiastically. "Not King of the Weevils, anymore – I'm alive!"

Jack had a small smile of his own. "Let's get back up," he said, jerking his head slightly towards the main room of the Hub.

"You don't believe it, do you?" Gwen accused. "You think something's going on, still – what if he's just alive again, and that's all there is to it? Maybe the two of them can have a happy ending, after all."

"I believe it," Jack assured her. His thoughts were of the more sobering sort, the ones which frequently plagued an immortal man living among those who would only die once. The question of whether such a life was a blessing or a curse. Owen, at least, wasn't trapped in this world as he was – he had simply been given another chance. Perhaps that truly was for the best.

"Sounds like we've got ourselves an answer, then," Rhys said pointedly. "How about that day off you were talking about?"

Jack glanced at Tosh, as she resumed her place by the monitors. "How's it looking?"

"All quiet," Tosh reported, and gave a small smile. "Owen and I can stay here."

"Thank you," Jack agreed. He looked back at the other four. "Keep your coms on, just in case," he ordered, "but I think we can go home, for the day."

Gwen and Rhys both whooped. "Come on, then!" Rhys urged, and Gwen laughed as he tugged her out the door.

"You two get on with it," John said, nodding to Jack and Ianto. "I'll be sticking around here, I think, till I get my own place."

Jack nodded. "So long as you're alright sleeping in a chair."

John snorted. "I've slept upside down," he said. "I'll live."

Ianto took Jack's hand, and the two shared a small smile. "We're off," Jack said. They walked out of the Hub, and the giant cog door rolled shut behind them.


	3. A Day Off?

Jack and Ianto walked along the streets side by side, though they weren't holding hands anymore. Jack was perfectly comfortable with his orientation, as most who knew him were fully aware, but Ianto was still rather self-conscious about being bisexual. Jack could hardly identify with it, but he couldn't blame Ianto for it. "It's getting better," he pointed out quietly, after a few minutes of quiet. "In 2027, the United Nations will make homophobic legislation illegal. By 2050 it'll be a thing of the past."

"And by 2050 I'll be retired," Ianto pointed out. "It's a bit late, for me."

"It'll be fine," Jack said bracingly. "Come on – look, there's no one around, now." He gestured at the quiet alley they were in. "We're more likely to be found by a weevil down here than by a person." He held out a hand, smiling. Meeting his eyes with a trace of his own smile, Ianto took it, and didn't resist as Jack leaned in, kissing him gently.

Ianto closed his eyes, feeling a hint of his tension fading away. He kept his eyes closed as Jack drew back a moment later, trying not to hear his father's voice, the voice which demanded to know just what-

"See?" Jack's voice, warm and gentle and _real_, interrupted his thoughts, and he opened his eyes to see him smiling. "Was that so bad? It doesn't have to stay secret forever."

"This looks pretty secret to me," Ianto observed.

Jack gave a bark of laughter. "I just can't win, can I?" he said. "Come on. Let's go home."

He hadn't let go of Ianto's hand. Ianto didn't quite want him to. "Yeah," he agreed, unable to hold back a small smile as a gentle breeze tugged at Jack's hair. The two of them started walking again, still hand in hand.

The wind grew stronger, whipping Jack's coat about and pulling at Ianto's sleeves. Jack glanced at the sky – it was overcast, as was so common in Britain. "Storm on the way," he sighed, and both quickened their pace. "Let's try to get back before the rain hits."

The wind, though, had other ideas. It grew stronger, slowing them, making each step a struggle. "This can't be natural." Ianto had to raise his voice for Jack to hear him above the wind whistling in their ears.

Jack nodded. "Tosh!" he said into the com. "Anything from the Rift?" He pressed a hand to the earpiece, trying to hear a response. "If you're saying anything, I can't hear you. We've got a ridiculous wind-" A gust slammed him against the wall, and the com was knocked loose, blowing down the alley – and stopping just ten meters away.

"It's localized!" Ianto realized, staggering against the wind. "If we can get to the edge-"

Instead, he found Jack pulling him closer, arms wrapping around him as the American stared up at the sky. Squinting hard against the wind, Ianto looked up as well.

Light was gathering above them. It wasn't like gas, exactly, just wisps of light spiraling together, forming a single shape – a gigantic dragon flapping overhead. Each wing was the length of a city block, and the tail coiled out behind it, long and majestic and thick with muscle. An instant later, it was diving towards them, mouth gaping open, and they could see the teeth, the fangs each the size of a grown man's forearm. Pinned in place against the wall by the wind, they could do nothing but cling to one another, trying to brace for the impact, and the teeth.

Ianto's lips were moving, the wind snatching away his quiet words – a prayer to the God he had lost any faith in when he joined Torchwood London and saw the realities of the universe. Now, the words were a desperate plea, or perhaps just a frightened search for comfort – he wasn't sure which, himself.

Light shone almost blindingly bright, even through their closed eyelids, a distant roar sounded in their ears even over the wind. Then it was dark, but the wind was still there – stronger even than before, tearing around them like fingers and hands trying to pull them apart. Unable to feel so much as the ground beneath their feet, anymore – if there was one – they clung to one another with all their strength.

After an eternity in the darkness which may have been only seconds, Jack was dropped unceremoniously onto what felt like pavement, Ianto on top of him, and both men fell into blackness.

Owen slipped his arms around Tosh from behind. "Do we have to work?" he complained. "Maybe we could let John watch the rift."

Tosh snorted. "Suddenly you trust him, do you?"

"Well, no," Owen admitted. "But if he messes up, he's out of Torchwood, and he knows that. In the meantime, my appetite isn't all I've gotten back."

"We can't just ask him to do it," Tosh said. "Look – we'll get off at our usual time, and go to my place. Alright?"

Owen sighed. "Fine."

John chuckled as Tosh turned back to the screens. "I'll leave you two alone, then," he said, turning to leave.

"Wait," Tosh said suddenly.

John looked back, eyebrows raised. "What, you want a threesome? Didn't think you people went for that sort of-"

"Negative rift spike," Tosh said.

"A what?" John frowned.

"Negative rift spike," Owen said. "Usually, the rift sends stuff here from other places. Negative spikes are when it takes stuff from here and sends it somewhere else – and we can't do much of anything about it," he added pointedly to Tosh.

"We can't," Tosh agreed. "But we can let Jack know."

"Right."

Tosh shot him a small smile, then spoke into the com. "Jack? We've got a negative rift spike." She waited for a response – and didn't get one. "Negative rift spike," she said again. Still no response came. She looked at Owen. "You heard that through the com, right?"

"Yeah," Owen agreed quickly. "Maybe he turned it off?"

Tosh snorted. "He told us to leave ours on," she pointed out.

"Yeah, well…" Owen trailed off. On the one hand, his cock was telling him to get Tosh home as soon as possible. On the other hand- "Gwen," he said into the com. "You can hear me, right?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "What's going on?"

"Apparently Jack can't."

Tosh was typing something into the computer. A map appeared on the screen, with four numbered blue dots – two on the Hub, one by Gwen's flat, and another somewhere else in the city. "Ianto's com is off, but Jack is on," Tosh said, slowly.

John frowned, striding over and looking over Tosh's shoulder at the map. "Let's go, then," he said bluntly.

"Since when were you in charge?" Owen asked.

"Since never," John said, already starting towards the cog door. "I'll go by myself, if I have to, but I want to find Jack, and I reckon it would be a lot easier if you two tagged along, especially if we wind up needing any of your gizmos."

Tosh and Owen glanced at each other, unsure. "You _did-_" Owen started.

"Oh, come on," John groaned. "Look – Jack decided to trust me. Looks to me like you can trust his judgment – which hasn't turned out badly for me, I don't know about you blokes – or you can leave him to whatever's going on. Which could be nothing, or it could be something he needs us for."

Owen sighed. "Let's get in the SUV," he said finally. "I'll drive."

They piled in, and Tosh read out the location to Owen. The car couldn't fit into the alley, and they stopped at the mouth. Almost right away, John got out, frowning at something farther down. He strode forward, Tosh and Owen hurrying behind him. Near the end, he bent and picked up the com. "Look familiar?" he asked grimly, handing it to Owen.

Tosh frowned. "He would have noticed if he'd lost it," she pointed out.

"And Ianto doesn't tend to turn his off," Owen said. "Not against orders, definitely."

"Not looking too good," John agreed.

"Gwen," Owen was speaking into his com. "I think you'd best get over here. Jack and Ianto are missing."

"On my way," Gwen replied.


	4. Alarm clock

Jack returned to consciousness slowly – he hadn't died. That was good. Coming back to life wasn't pleasant.

He opened his eyes. He was lying on his back on the pavement, Ianto slumped on top of him. "Ianto?" he asked, frowning. Ianto stirred slightly, mumbled something unintelligible, and stilled again. Jack heaved a sigh of relief – he wasn't dead either. Good.

From where he lay, he did his best to look around. They appeared to be in the same alley – only it was late evening, and he thought the buildings around them appeared to be rather more run-down, and there might be a bit more rubbish in the street – perhaps that had been because of the wind.

Ianto stirred again, then moaned. One hand lurched out, smacking the pavement. One of Jack's eyebrows went up as Ianto swore, sitting up. "What were you doing, exactly?"

Ianto went slightly red. "Trying to turn off my alarm clock."

"No alarm clock here."

"I noticed."

"You alright?"

"Yeah." Ianto rose slowly, looking around. "What happened?"

"No idea," Jack said, standing beside him. He looked for his com where it had landed – it wasn't there. "No com," he observed.

"I've got mine," Ianto said quickly, handing it over.

Jack took it with a nod of thanks. "Owen and Tosh," he said into the communicator. "Looks like we've got some serious rift activity – some sort of dragon." There was no response. "Owen?" he repeated. "Tosh?"

"Jack." Ianto had been looking around, and now he handed Jack a newspaper leaf which had been lying on the ground. "Look at the date."

Obediently, Jack looked. "2056," he said. "We've traveled in time, then."

"Because we were eaten by a dragon?" Ianto said dubiously.

"I don't know about the dragon," Jack said, "but unless that paper's a hoax, we're in the future. Let's get back to the main roads."

He started along the alley, and Ianto hurried after him. "This doesn't look like the future," Ianto pointed out.

After passing dark windows, a dumpster, and more garbage, they stepped onto a well-lit main road, and stopped. "No," Jack agreed, "It doesn't."

The cars driving along were normal enough compared to the time period they had come from, but little else was.

Many of the people – younger people in particular – had unnaturally colored or multicolored hair, with no sign of normal colored roots. Piercings were popular – as was black, it seemed. Women's clothing was even more revealing than usual – and breasts were often far larger, to the point of being rather ridiculous.

Everywhere, there were advertisements for a company called GeneCo. A giant skyscraper rising in the middle of the city bore the same logo. Dotting the sky were hovering billboards which blared headlines such as "Rotti Largo Dead" "Amber Sweet In Charge Of GeneCo" "Shilo Wallace Missing" and "Genetic Opera Tragedy".

"Maybe this _is_ the future," Ianto corrected himself, staring.

"No," Jack said, to his surprise. "Definitely _not_ the future."

"It's also rather obviously not the past," Ianto waved at the billboards.

"But it's not the future," Jack repeated. "Not the future as it should be, anyway. I'm from the fifty first century, and I've never heard of GeneCo – and I know for a fact the sort of technology for those billboards shouldn't be around for another thirty years or so."

"What is it, then?" Ianto asked slowly.

"I'm not sure. Hey!" Jack stopped a man who tried to pass them and slip into the alley. "If you don't mind, sir, we're not from around here."

The man looked both of them up and down, and snorted. "Clearly." His voice was low and rich – while part of what Jack loved about Ianto was the man's voice, this guy sounded nearly as good. Ignoring them, he passed by, walking towards a corner.

Jack chased after him, stopping him again with a hand on his shoulder. "Who is GeneCo?" he asked bluntly.

The man turned, frowning. "Where have you been living for the past fifty years?"

"Fifty years?" Jack echoed. "They've been around since 2006?"

"Sometime around then," the man shrugged. "Maybe a bit later – does it matter? It was before any of us were born – which begs the question of how you don't know about them."

"I think it would be simpler if you would just explain," Ianto pointed out softly. "What's your name?"

"Bernie," the man said.

"Alright then, Bernie," Jack said. "GeneCo. What are they? A bank? Oil?"

"Surgery," the man spoke as though it were the most obvious thing.

"Surgery?" Jack repeated. "A company with this much of an influence on a city-" as he spoke, a GeneCo garbage truck rolled by the mouth of the alley "-does _surgery_?"

"Not just this city," he said. "The entire developed world. Where are you from, South America?"

"That's right," Jack agreed quickly. "We've just come from Argentina. So – how has surgery become so popular? And why GeneCo?"

"They saved the human race, apparently," he said.

"How?"

"Some virus was going around causing organ failures, and GeneCo came up with a way to make the life-saving surgery affordable," he said. "Miss a payment, mind you, and they come to collect. People don't tend to survive that. But by the time people started to actually think about what that meant, it had snowballed – the company now performs most of the medicine in the modern world, and surgery is the largest fashion industry there is."

"You're serious?" Jack demanded. "Last time I checked, people didn't risk death to look good."

"It's like driving a car," the man said. "No one thinks they'll be the one to crash."

"He has a point there," Ianto said.

Jack nodded. "Thanks, Bernie."

Bernie nodded, and slipped down the alley, a window he passed showing his reflection for just a second. His skin was rather unnaturally white, with dark eyeliner around light blue-grey eyes. His long hair – it hung far past his shoulders – was primarily medium brown, with streaks of blond, blue, and a bit of red. He was about Ianto's height, maybe a centimeter or two shorter at the most. A black duster hung open, revealing a shirt which had once been white, jeans and reaper boots.

"Bernie," Graverobber muttered to himself, smiling crookedly. "They believed that?"

When the two well-dressed men had first stopped him, his instinct had been to run – or rather, get away in the most inconspicuous way possible, given the circumstances. However, it had taken just a few words to realize they were honest enough – Amber Sweet didn't like her employees chatting up their targets. _Even if those targets included the man she'd once gotten her hits from,_ he thought bitterly.

He didn't have any emotional attachment to the woman. She was attractive, yes, but only in the artificial way in which all girls with a cent in their pockets were attractive – that was the way it had been since he was born. Still, he knew from experience she was quite good – in bed wasn't perhaps the right term, but she was good. He missed that a little. Most of the other girls he catered to didn't make that sort of offer often.

Those two men, though – they hadn't even known what GeneCo _was_! If that was what natural people looked like as adults, he might just have to take his business down to Africa, or South America. He would keep an eye out for those two, certainly.


	5. Arguments

Gwen, with Tosh's directions, arrived on foot with Rhys in tow. "What happened?"

"We tried to contact Jack and Ianto, and they didn't respond," Tosh said. "We found Jack's com here, but that's it."

"You were trying to tell him about a negative rift spike, right?" Rhys said – Gwen had told him about the com conversation as they made their way to the alley, as well as a quick explanation about those particular phenomena. "What if it took them?"

Gwen paled. "God, I hope not," she whispered. "I can let the police know – we have to try, just in case." Just in case they were wrong. She didn't often hope they were wrong, but she certainly did now.

"No arguments here," Owen said quickly. Tosh nodded.

"Nothing else?" John demanded. "All your gear, everything you've got down there in the Hub – hell, some of it's stuff I've never seen myself – and you can't do anything but run to the cops?"

"There was no sign of a regular rift spike in the area within the past two hours – just a negative one," Tosh pointed out. "Either it was the spike, or it's – well, natural. Normal criminals – or Jack acting entirely out of character."

"What, exactly, is a negative rift spike?" John asked slowly, with a strong feeling he wouldn't like the response.

"It's when the rift takes something – or someone – from here, and puts them somewhere else in time and space," Gwen swallowed. "Sometimes they get back here, but when they do – they're older, often, and I met one who had been driven mad."

"Somewhere else in time and space?" John repeated swiftly. "Then I bet I can find him."

"You can?" Tosh demanded.

"Sure. Time Agent, remember? Well, former Time Agent, really, but I've still got the-" he broke off, then swore fluently in languages none of them even recognized. Finally he hissed – in English – "Bastard took it. I _could_ have looked for him with my vortex manipulator, but he goddamn _took it_!" He leaned against the wall of the alley, closing his eyes.

"That wrist thing?" Owen said slowly. "The one Jack took?"

"Yeah."

"He might've left it in the archives," Owen pointed out. "Probably did."

John's eyes shot open again. "You mean you have it?" he demanded.

"Maybe," Gwen corrected. "We might have it. We don't know for sure."

"I need it," John said flatly, starting back towards the SUV.

"Don't," Gwen told Owen, seeing him open his mouth to object. "We can talk about it back at the Hub, alright? We don't need a shouting match about rift spikes and time travel in the middle of Cardiff – and there really isn't any use arguing over the thing when we don't even know if we have it or not."

Owen closed his mouth, glaring at her, then stomped wordlessly back to the SUV, getting back into place behind the wheel as the other four piled in behind him.

_Five_, Gwen thought. _Always, it's five. I joined to replace Suzie – maybe not as a replacement, but I was hired when she died – and then Jack hires John, and Rhys keeps tagging along_ – not that she minded_ – and still we're at five._ She didn't have romantic thoughts for Jack, anymore – yes, she had been interested, once, but now she was entirely content with her modern, mortal marriage. That hardly meant she wasn't worried.

"I'll check the archives, you look in the office," Owen told Gwen. "Then-"

"Actually, it's right here," Tosh picked up the device from her desk. "He must have forgotten it."

"I need that," John said quickly.

"And Jack took it," Owen pointed out. "Why should we give it back?"

"So I can find him!"

"How do we trust you?" Gwen wanted to know.

"Jack does – I thought he was Captain around here?"

"He was," Gwen agreed. "And Ianto was second in command. But with them both missing, that means nothing, and we want to know why we ought to trust you with this thing."

John groaned. "I'm worried about him, alright?"

"Not exactly something you can prove," Owen pointed out.

"Couldn't you just tell them how to use it, and let them do it?" Rhys suggested.

John snorted. "Do you have any idea how much training we all had to go through?" Sure I could teach them, but I don't think we want to take five years for me to do it."

"So we either give you a device with which you could potentially destroy all of us, or we leave Jack and Ianto on their own," Owen said. "Why do I think you planned this?"

John's eyes flashed, and he strode closer to Owen, glaring. "Listen here, Weasel-face," he hissed. "I've got a feeling I care about Jack at least as much as you care about her." He jerked his head slightly towards Tosh. "So if-"

"If you're threatening-" Owen started.

John groaned, a sound which turned into a growl of frustration. "What _is_ it with you people?" he demanded of the ceiling. He looked down at Owen again. "No, I'm not threatening," he said. "I'm looking for trust, here, _trust_, not blind, terrified obedience, not that I'd be likely to get that from you lot even if I wanted to, which I _don't_."

"What are you saying, then?" Owen demanded.

John sighed. "I'm saying I love him," he said flatly. "And the last time I told him so, the next thing I did was to shoot him full of bullets under Gray's orders – not an association I want to keep. I don't hold anything against Eye Candy-"

"Ianto," Tosh corrected.

"-Ianto, then – fine. I don't hold anything against him, and I can't hold a candle to him, but if I can save him and Jack, if I have any chance at all, then you'd better believe I'm gonna try."

"Sounds admirable enough," Owen said dubiously.

"Do I look like the sort of bloke who goes around being all worried about whether or not I'm being admirable? Just give me the damn thing already."

"Just because-" Owen started.

"One week," Gwen said abruptly.

John and Owen both looked at her. "What?" John was the one to ask.

"One week," Gwen said again. "If it's been a week, and there's no sign of Jack, and no sign that we can't trust John – we'll let him have the vortex manipulator. Alright?"

John scowled – then, slowly, nodded. After a moment, Owen did the same. "Don't think this means I trust you all of a sudden," he warned John, sullen.

John sighed. "Wouldn't dream of it," he grumbled. "You lot really are a friendly bunch, aren't you?"

His response was a chorus of silent glares.


	6. Assessment

"What do you think it is?" Ianto asked, as Bernie turned a corner, slipping out of their sight. "What happened?"

Jack grimaced. "I can think of two possibilities off of the top of my head," he said. "No, make that three. The third would be that this isn't real – some sort of dream, hallucination – that sort of thing. I'd add 'afterlife' to the list, except that if there is one, as far as I know I can't get there. And all evidence says there isn't."

Ianto preferred not to think of his lover's immortality when he could help it. It only served to remind him that Jack still hadn't said the words Ianto wanted to hear more than anything. Even more, it reminded him that even if Jack did say it, Ianto was just one in a line of men, women and aliens which stretched who knew how far into Jack's past, and forever into the future. One day, Jack would forget about him. How many had he already forgotten?

He tried to shake himself free of those thoughts. "Considering it might be difficult to prove a lack of reality to what's happening, I think we ought to put that option aside for the moment. What about the other two?" he asked.

Jack sighed. "If this is real, I think – I think – based on what I've heard – we were just caught in a negative rift spike. Some of the other victims who returned alive and at least somewhat sane – some of them have said things about a dragon, and light, and wind. It seems to almost perfectly match what happened."

Ianto paled. "That's not good," he said finally.

Jack snorted. "No, it's not," he agreed. "And it gets worse, too. The two possibilities I mentioned? One is that something has changed – this time's past, our time's future – and history isn't the way it should be. The second is that the rift doesn't just go through time and space, but through parallel dimensions."

"Which would mean we can't get back," Ianto said slowly. "Either way – we're trapped here."

Jack shook his head. "So long as it's just a time thing – I've got my vortex manipulator, I could get us back. We would have to try to avoid changing things, unfortunately, to prevent a time paradox, but I could do it."

"Then do it!" Ianto urged.

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Next time you're here, you'll be over sixty or seventy years old," he pointed out. "Sure you don't want to look around here a bit while you can?"

"I'm sure," Ianto said flatly, with a small scowl at a woman walking by with breasts at least as large as cantaloupes. "If you can get us back, get us back."

Jack smiled slightly, taking Ianto's hand and pressing a button on his wrist strap. There was a slight flash – a spark had gone up from the device.

Jack frowned. "It should work," he said. "My doctor fixed it last time we met." He tried again – it sparked again, then beeped briefly. Jack scowled. "Looks like we're in an alternate universe," he sighed.

"Wonderful," Ianto agreed.

"Well then," Jack said, businesslike once more. "Let's split up, find out what we can about what's different – aside from the obvious – and what's going on. Check newspapers, magazines – keep an eye on those billboards, too. Meet in maximum three hours back at the Hub – if that's gone, right here. Alright?" Ianto nodded. "Let's go."

Ianto went one way down the street, Jack went the other. Ianto stopped in a small shop – one which had several magazines for sale. He approached the cashier. "I don't mean to sound daft," he said, "but could you tell me what form of currency you accept?"

"The pound," the man snorted. "Obviously."

"My apologies," Ianto said with a small smile. "I travel a great deal, so I wanted to be sure." He pulled out his wallet. "How much are the magazines?"

"A quid each. You don't sound like you've left the country in your life."

"I've been told my accent refuses to change." He pulled out his wallet, hoping that the notes were the same. Being arrested for counterfeiting wouldn't much help just then.

Either the two universes had the same currency or the shopkeeper didn't notice, because Ianto left the store with half a dozen magazines under his arm, and a newspaper in his hand, thinking.

He would need money, soon. His credit card would almost certainly not work here. No, that wasn't entirely true. There was a possibility someone else here had the same one, and he could use it for a little while before it was canceled, but doubtless then security cameras would pick him out as an identity thief.

He had only about twenty quid left in his wallet. Admittedly he didn't know how much Jack had on him, but no matter what, if they were trapped here, they would need an income eventually.

He slipped into an alley, leaning against a wall. They would have to start a new life here, the two of them – they didn't even know if Torchwood existed, here, and that wasn't something the papers would tell them. If Torchwood wasn't around – or refused to hire them – they would have to find new jobs. Jack, in a regular job – that was difficult to imagine. Ianto smiled slightly to himself.

The smile, though, faded quickly, as he finally let himself truly register what had happened.

He still had Jack, yes. But everything else – everything he had once known, all of the rest of his life – all of that was gone. Owen and Tosh and Gwen – he would never see them again, or his sister. Never watch Myfanwy fly overhead again, or give the pterodactyl the dark chocolate it had come to love. He smiled slightly to himself. He never had taken the time to find out whether the dinosaur had serotonin levels or not, after all.

All he had was the clothes on his back, the contents of his pockets – his wallet, a pen, two paper clips, the now-useless com, a stopwatch, and a note he'd written to remind himself to pick up the dry cleaning. That, and Jack, a man he loved with all his heart and soul, a man who never seemed to give a very clear idea of just what he felt in his forever-beating heart.

_Ianto? Where are you? Ianto, this is seven times I've asked you to – Ianto! Just what do you think you're doing hanging around back here – and who the bloody hell is that?_

The slightest gasp came through his lips at the memory, a sound barely audible even to him. Something tightened in his chest – a feeling he had had hundreds of times before. He pushed the memory down, reaching for something, anything to take its place. He wound up with an old childhood song stuck in his head, instead. Then again, children's voices singing about a falling bridge? That was far better than the memories – than that memory.

He resettled himself against the wall, opening the newspaper. Headlines assaulted his eyes. "Blind Mag Dead: Rumors Of Deal With GeneCo" "Leukemia: Rotti Largo's Illness" "Interview With Largo Brothers: Content With Decision" "The Girl No One Knew: Shilo Wallace And What May Have Happened To Her". He sighed, started on the front page, and began to read.


	7. Accident

The world flowed past Captain Jack Harkness as he strode down the street, lost in thought.

His posture, his stride, his expression – everything he did gave the distinct impression he had been there hundreds of times before. He had, too, really – just not these exact streets. The streets he knew, though they were geographically identical to the ones he walked, were a distance away which could not be measured – no one could measure distance between universes. It was like trying to paint a line on two opposite walls of a room with a single brush stroke. Different dimensions, separated by a barrier which had nothing to do with space – perhaps nothing to do with time, either, for that matter.

He himself had little intention of reading newspapers or magazines, aside from whatever Ianto came up with. That was, well, Ianto's job. Not that he was being lazy – he knew Ianto would like it. He liked knowing things.

_I know everything. And it says so at the bottom of the screen_.

Jack smiled slightly as Ianto's voice came to mind, his beautiful accent flowing from those soft lips.

He remembered the first time he had kissed the Welshman. Ianto had been unconscious for all but a moment of it, and had run off soon after to try to save his half-robot girlfriend. Jack, though, had found himself staring after the man, his heart pounding in his chest.

The sky was now completely dark, the streets now nearly deserted – the people had filtered indoors within a space of about fifteen minutes. Jack found his steps had led him to a cemetery where, in his world, there was an office building. He stepped through the gate, walking among the graves.

Ironic, wasn't it? The man who could never die, surrounded by the dead. He stopped, looking at the back of a tombstone.

He could never die. He'd known that for a long time, obviously – and the Doctor had confirmed it. It wasn't as though it was only just sinking in for the first time, either. It had sunk in long ago.

But one day, he had little doubt he would be standing in this same graveyard, or one like it, looking down at a tombstone bearing the name _Ianto Jones_. It would have two dates, one of which was fake – made up to disguise the fact that he had been born in the late 1900s, when he looked like he was from the 2020s at the earliest. And Jack would be standing here, still exactly the same, because his life was a fact in time, just as he knew it was a fact that those around him would die.

He had had to face it before, of course. The death of a partner could hardly be avoided, with a life like his. He remembered them well, all four of them. But he knew it was different, with Ianto. The other four – two women, a man and an alien – he had loved them with all his heart. But Ianto? His love for the Welsh man, it seemed, was bound to his very soul.

And so he tried to push him away a little, tried to keep him at arm's distance, because the closer he let Ianto come to him, the more he would lose when the younger man was gone. That was the way it was supposed to work, right? If he didn't let himself get attached, it wouldn't hurt as much when it ended.

But he knew otherwise. Already, the day Ianto slipped into that darkness which was death was a day Jack could not bring himself to imagine. He closed his eyes, willing himself to believe it would never come.

A searchlight danced across him, then, startling him into looking up, blinking in the light.

"Graverobber on premises," a voice blared over speakers Jack couldn't see. It was now that he saw the faintly lit sign which read, "All graverobbers will be shot on sight".

"Well, that's really friendly." He raised his empty hands over his head. "Sorry," he called, seeing the figures emerge from the darkness around him. "New around here, didn't know about the whole graverobbing thing." What the hell was going on with the graverobber paranoia, anyway? Last time he had checked, robbing a grave was hardly a crime worthy of the death penalty, let alone being shot on sight. Hopefully Ianto had gotten some answers. "There really isn't any need to-"

They shot him anyway. The gunman was good – the bullet went straight into Jack's forehead, just right of center. He crumpled, dead before he hit the ground.

The guards swarmed around him, checking his vitals to be safe – there had been one man, once, who had purposefully had his vital organs redistributed through his body, to try to make himself harder to kill. Complications had killed him, after all, within a week – in the meantime, though, he had managed to pull off several successful robberies in this same cemetery.

"No pulse," one of the men reported finally. "No breath, no-"

Of course, as though to purposefully spite him, that was just when Jack gasped, jolting back to life, his eyes flying open.

He found himself on the wrong end of half a dozen guns, and sighed. "No need to shoot," he said. "Wasn't aware there was a graverobber problem, didn't see the sign – not doing anything, really."

"How did you survive?" one of them demanded – Jack couldn't see well enough to be able to tell who.

He sighed. "I can't die," he said flatly.

Predictably enough, this earned him another shot – this time to the stomach. Far more painful, far less instantaneous. One man held a gloved hand over his mouth to muffle the screams as he died again.

"Think he was telling the truth?" one of the younger ones asked slowly.

An older man scoffed. "Yeah, right. That other guy said he couldn't die, and he was dead in a week."

"Still – I mean, Theo shot him in the head, and you saw that heal over same as I did."

"Wait all you like, this guy's not getting up any time-"

Once again, Jack managed to have perfect timing. "Told you I couldn't die," he said.

He couldn't see expressions, but the guns lowered slowly – one, then another, and another. "You just – regenerate, is that it?" one asked cautiously.

"You saw it yourself," another said.

"I figured I'd ask the guy himself. Well?"

"Yeah. Could put it that way, I guess."

"And you're not a graverobber?"

"Not at all."

"Search him," the same voice said. "It would be in your best interests not to resist," he added to Jack.

The other men knelt beside him, searching his pockets, his boots, his belt – everything. They found little, of course – just his wallet, and lint.

"He's telling the truth," the man who was apparently their leader said finally. "Let's move out."

They trooped off, leaving Jack lying there alone.

"Thanks," a voice said from the darkness. A familiar voice.

_AN: I'm back, at last. I hit a block when School started up again, then started homeschooling myself and found my motivation crushed entirely when my best friend, who encouraged me to start this story in the first place, as well as being an amazing idea-bouncer and motivator and Beta reader, stopped talking to me. I'm still looking for a new Beta, so hopefully my own proof-reading will be enough to keep these in decent shape. _

_I also edited the past few chapters and made minor edits (Before now, Ianto's inventory of his pockets didn't include the stopwatch, despite his having put it in his pocket earlier. Continuity fail.)_

_Anyway. Please review, it's the only thing that's going to keep me writing now._

_You're all awesome._

_And, to prove that it says so at the bottom of the screen:_

_Ianto knows everything._


	8. Acquaintance

_Author's Note: Sorry I've been taking so long. My muse is very active, it just… keeps focusing on other stories. Stories none of you want to see, like what happens when Eric Northman turns The Doctor into a vampire. And what happens when a game of D&D goes horribly wrong. Plus some original fiction stuff._

_The good news is that I have a rough version of chapter 9 written up, though it'll need some serious editing before I let you all see it._

_Anyway. Here's chapter 8. Please remember, your reviews are what keep me going!_

_I am neither Terrance Zdunich nor anyone else associated with Repo! The Genetic Opera or with Torchwood._

Jack sat up, squinting towards the speaker, unable to see very well in the near-darkness. The billboards shed a bit of light, but little more than a full moon would have, and he was still temporarily blinded by the searchlight. By the time his vision cleared somewhat, a small vial of some sort of glowing blue liquid was being held up by a black gloved hand, illuminating a pale – or at the moment, blue – face. Jack blinked. "Bernie?"

The man snorted. "Still can't believe you fell for that," he said. "Wasn't my real name at all – though from what I just saw, you weren't joking about being from… out of town, to say the least."

"To say the least," Jack echoed. "What did you see? No, before that – if you're not Bernie, who are you?"

He smirked. "Call me Graverobber. Everyone does."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "That's a profession," he pointed out.

"It's what they call me," Graverobber repeated. "I didn't choose it for myself, at least."

"And what did you see?"

"I saw you die twice, for one thing," he smirked. "Interesting trick there. How do you do it?"

"Not by choice," Jack said flatly.

"What is it, then?"

He hesitated. "I can't die," he said finally, repeating what he had told the guards. "That's all there is to it, really."

"Something GeneCo did? Haven't heard of that sort of thing being offered, but they kept the eye replacement technology secret for a while, too."

"It's just me," he said. "I didn't even know what GeneCo was, at first, remember?" Then he remembered something else Graverobber had said. "Why did you thank me?"

"You drew them off," Graverobber shrugged. "They nearly spotted me."

"Uh-huh," Jack said slowly. He chose not to mention the fact he hadn't even known Graverobber was there. Chances were, the pale man had already guessed such was the case. "What do they have against graverobbers, anyway? I mean, I know it's disrespectful, sure, but killing on sight?"

"This is the twenty first century," Graverobber pointed out. "They probably wouldn't even mind if we stole bodies, parts, or any of that useless stuff. They just don't like the Zydrate market."

"Zydrate?" Jack echoed.

Graverobber gestured with the small, luminous vial. "Extremely powerful painkiller. That was what it was developed for, anyway. GeneCo uses it when they do surgery. Thing is, it's also a rather addicting drug."

"What does that have to do with graverobbing?"

Graverobber smirked – then opened an above-ground grave, pulling out the body. "Watch and learn," he murmured. He dropped a small pack on the ground, pulling out a syringe. He pushed the needle into the corpse's nose, and the syringe began to fill with the same clear blue, luminous liquid from the vial.

"It comes from corpses?" Jack demanded, repulsed.

"Collects in the brain after death, actually," Graverobber corrected. "I'm not entirely sure whether it's natural or leftovers from people who used it, and it doesn't really matter to me. I've never found a corpse without it, but you don't find many people who haven't taken it at some point, either."

"And you trust me why?" Jack asked slowly. "I could be getting ready to hand you in."

"There's an air around anyone who works for GeneCo," Graverobber said dismissively. "Every last one of them. You don't quite have it. And besides," he waved at the sign, "they shoot on sight."

Jack chuckled. "I noticed."

Graverobber was hoisting the body back into the grave, slipping the lid back on, moving over to another. "You sound American," he observed.

Jack raised his eyebrows. "So do you."

"I had to get out of California," he explained. "Amber knew exactly where to find me. I arrived this morning."

"Amber?"

"Amber Sweet. Daughter of the man who started GeneCo. Spoiled brat. She was one of my customers, but as the new head of GeneCo, she'll be wanting to have me killed just the same as Rotti did."

"So you got out," Jack nodded. "Makes sense."

"The point is, you said you were from Argentina," Graverobber pointed out. "Your accent says otherwise."

"And you said your name was Bernie."

"Fair enough," Graverobber chuckled. "But I told you who I was."

Jack nodded. "I'm from America, yes," he agreed. Technically not true, but he wasn't about to admit to being from another planet, in another century, let alone in another universe. "It's a rather long story."

Graverobber raised his eyebrows, but said nothing as he tossed the second body back into the grave. "Let's get out, for now," he suggested. Jack nodded, and the two of them slipped out of the graveyard, and began to walk along the street. "That man with you – he was from around here, wasn't he? He certainly had the accent."

Jack nodded. "He's a friend of mine from work."

"No closer?"

Jack looked at him, a little startled. "Why do you ask?"

Graverobber shrugged. "Just something about the way you were looking at him," he said.

Jack shook his head. "We work together," he said. "That's all." It was a lie, yes, but there really was no need to go around parading the personal life he would one day regret.

"Are you available, then?" Graverobber had a smile on his face which left little doubt as to the ideas in his head. Fifty-first century pheromones. Sometimes Jack wished he didn't have them. Usually, it was because someone unwanted was coming on to him – this time, it was because he knew he shouldn't be quite so tempted to find a room and spend the night with this man.

Instead, he shook his head again. "Have you ever had surgery?" he asked, changing the subject.

"No. I don't need to give them another reason to come after me."

"So they didn't do your hair?"

"There's still a small market for old-fashioned hair dyes."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "A real market, or the same sort of market there is for Zydrate?"

Graverobber smirked. "Both. Which one do you think I use?"

"Is there a legal bone in your body?" Jack asked, trying to resist the urge to laugh.

"One," Graverobber said, face growing solemn once more. "I don't sell to minors."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that bad for business?"

Graverobber shook his head. "They get addicted quickly enough without having the first twenty years of their life ruined," he said. "Of course, half of them wind up trying it anyway, but I'm not going to cater to them."

Jack nodded. "Good for you."

Graverobber snorted. "I do it because it's right, not because it looks good."

"Well, it's not like you do much else right."

"Maybe not, but it's their choice – it's not like I'm pressuring you to get a hit, am I?"

"No," Jack agreed. "Not yet, anyway."

Graverobber chuckled at that. "You don't seem much like you'd want to, anyway," he admitted. "Not yet. Spend long enough in this mess of a 'first-world country' and you might change your mind. I'll be after you then, never fear."

Jack grimaced. "I used to be the sort who would do that sort of thing," he said. "I'm staying away, now."

"Like I said. Spend a few months here, and then tell me what you think."


	9. Arrival

_Author's Note: Once again, I apologize for the long break. I've been rather busy lately (as usual). Microbusiness to get off of the ground, education, all that fun stuff. Anyway, here's chapter 9 - think of it as an early Christmas present!  
>I, of course, own neither REPO! The Genetic Opera nor Torchwood.<em>

* * *

><p>Jack glanced at the billboards for the time – there was another half hour left before he'd said he and Ianto should meet up. That was certainly long enough to get to the Hub, but whoever was in there – if anyone – were probably going to be easier to talk to if there was just one strange visitor, as opposed to two. And if there was no Hub, he would have to get back to the alley. "I should go," he told Graverobber.<p>

The man nodded. "I'll see you around, then," he said with a small smile, slipping into the shadows.

Jack looked after Graverobber. He wanted to get to know this man better, but he knew it would be a poor idea. And besides – Cardiff was a rather sizable city. Unless he wanted to hang around graveyards, chances were the two of them would never cross paths again.

With that in mind, he set off towards the Hub, his thoughts turning towards Ianto once more.

* * *

><p>To Rhys' disappointment, the day off had been effectively cut short by Jack's and Ianto's disappearances – after the deal had been struck with John, they had returned to their jobs.<p>

For John, this meant doing almost nothing – they didn't trust him enough to let him make coffee, even, despite the fact that there was no sort of poison either in the kitchen or that they could find on his person – they had taken the paralyzing lipstick, as well as his guns. He wore the holsters anyway, empty or not. If his stories were to be believed – which was a topic they sometimes debated – he had gotten them in the American West, and the coat from the Napoleonic Wars. They knew he had been a Time Agent, whatever that was, but that didn't tell them much.

"I still say it's a lie from a crazy man,"

"You've said," Gwen rolled her eyes. They were sitting around the conference table, the day after the Captain had vanished. The police were on alert and looking – both reluctant and amused, as they always were when they were asked to help Torchwood – but they had found nothing. There was no sign of any sort of struggle in the alley where Jack and Ianto were presumed to have been. There was an odd absence of garbage, yes, but that was hardly grounds for a criminal investigation of any sort. In fact, as the police rather pointedly commented, it seemed more like something Torchwood ought to be investigating, themselves.

Tosh was staying home for the day, keeping in touch from her laptop and her com. Owen was repeatedly making hints that he ought to be with her, but as Gwen pointed out, they were already understaffed at the Hub, even with Rhys helping where he could.

Owen scowled and turned back to his post at Tosh's screens. "Still can't believe you used to be a cop," he commented to Gwen.

"They're not that bad," Gwen said hotly. "They're just doing their jobs, that's all!"

"Didn't know they were paid to complain and do nothing," Owen complained. Gwen and Rhys shared a look, and Gwen bit her lip and fought down a laugh.

"What?" Owen demanded, looking up to see their expressions. "Look – I do my job, don't I?"

"So do they," Gwen pointed out. "Besides, they are right. Chances are, it's out of their depth."

"Still don't have to complain about it."

"I hear you complaining a load more than them," Rhys said. The comment earned him a glare from Owen and a grin from Gwen.

"I don't complain," Owen protested. "Much."

Gwen held back a snort.

* * *

><p>Jack headed towards the Hub, walking through the empty streets. The billboards could be heard more clearly, now – male and female voices reading off the news they displayed, all about GeneCo and the change of leadership. He gathered that something called the "Genetic Opera" was when Rotti Largo had died, and a girl named Shilo Wallace was involved who had since vanished. What the hell was a Genetic Opera, anyway?<p>

The tourist office was located exactly where it had always been in his universe, though it had ads for GeneCo pasted here and there, just the same as every other business in the area. The cog door opened, and Jack stepped in warily, expecting to have a less than happy greeting.

There wasn't a sound. "Hello?" he called, wary. There was no response.

He walked slowly through the complex. The computers were off, the coffee maker was cold. The cells were empty. There was no sign of Myfanwy overhead. The lights, though, were on, and there was no sign there had been any sort of fight.

He started towards the couch, thinking. Step one would be to boot up the computers and see what he could figure out about the operations of this version of Torchwood. There would be security – there would have to be security, if this Torchwood was at all competent – but maybe he could get around that. Maybe.

Putting that thought aside – a more thorough search of the Hub was certainly in order. The archives, at least, should yield interesting results, whether or not the computers were accessible. Even papers on desks – that should come first, if he was going to gather as much as possible about current events before the current occupiers of the Hub returned from whatever they were doing. Assuming they did return. If the Hub was abandoned – well, that would be a mystery to solve in itself.

He reached the couch, and found Ianto lying there, eyes closed. He nodded to himself – Ianto had turned on the lights, then, in an otherwise deserted Hub. Then he frowned. Something was wrong – very wrong.

"Ianto?" he said. He took his shoulder, shaking him gently – Ianto's head lolled slightly from side to side, but he didn't stir – at all. "Ianto!" He was shaking him by both shoulders, now, his heart starting to pound. "Wake up!"

Ianto's eyes didn't open. One arm slipped from where it lay at his side on the couch, swinging down limply towards the floor. His skin, Jack realized, was white, and he wasn't so much as breathing.

_"Ianto!"_

The scream tore from Jack's throat again and again as he continued to shake his friend, his lover, even knowing he would never wake, was already beyond help. Even knowing those blue eyes would never open again, the small smile would never twitch his lips. Thoughts of the lights and the room around them had fled his mind. Had it been anyone else lying there – even Tosh, or Owen, or Gwen – he would soon have risen to find out what had happened, to get rid of it before giving himself time to mourn. But this was different. Now, all he knew was that Ianto was dead.

Slowly he stopped, staring down at Ianto's pale face. It was still, peaceful enough to look as though he was asleep, and growing blurry as tears pricked Jack's eyes. He wrapped his arms around his lover's motionless body, kissing him for a moment, then burying his head in his shoulder.

"Ianto." He murmured the name, his voice breaking as he began to sob. "Not now." His voice seemed almost alien. "Not so soon."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Alright, maybe not the best Christmas present I could have ever given you guys, but believe me - there is a plan! Post a review and let me know what you think is going on.<br>I will try to get chapter 10 up for you guys in a slightly shorter amount of time than three months, but no promises. I'm venturing into the territory where I have to decide EXACTLY what I want to have happen between the beginning (yes, all these chapters were basically the beginning) the middle (by which I mean things are going to get a bit more complicated than they are now) and the end (which is planned, though not written).  
>Thanks for reading, and please don't hate me!<em>


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